Deceptions of Certain Degrees
by illuminator
Summary: [warning:teensy bit of slash] Galadriel is murdered and the fellowship is under suspicion.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings or any of that stuff. Or maybe that's just what I want you to think…*chuckles evilly*

Just so you know, the conversations between the elves are spoken in elvish…'cause, well, they are elves.

Galadriel stepped over to her window and gazed out, savoring the view of the many treetops intertwined in the twilight. Slightly below, the many flets gleamed, filled with light and love. Low voices could be heard murmuring, carried by the breeze to Galadriel's ears, the elven voices mingling to form a pleasant melody. Peace was a lovely thing, to be treasured when had, to be remembered with fondness and not regret when it fled. She smiled, yet even that was tinged with sadness. In her heart there loomed a shadow, casting its darkness over her quiet restfulness. Restfulness? Yea, and yet not, for it was ever accompanied by a watchful spirit, seeing but not seen. Yet for all her watchfulness, she could not fathom what was this…thing…monstrosity as it seemed…that was drawing near… 

She shook her head and turned back into the room. Illuminated only by lamps filled with the glorious light of the morning star, it was her place of silence, where she came to reflect and be alone. Bearer of the ring Nenya, she oft had worries she could not impart to others, not even Celeborn, dear partner as he was. Troubles on an already burdened mind…the lady had much to tend to, much to oversee; she had knowingly accepted it all when gifted with Nenya. This bitter darkness upon her; foreboding filled her thoughts. More importantly, the arrival of the ringbearer upon that evening, upon the falling of dusk. She took it as an omen, that the light of day should so flee as the ring entered Caras Galadhon. She paused in her pacing and swept a cool hand over her brow.

Enough! She was wearied, greatly so, much more than she had cared to impress upon Celeborn and her maidens. Galadriel glided over and lowered herself onto a plain white bed, sumptuous in its simplicity. She lay back, hands clasped over her breast, eyes open and yet unseeing. Her mind forsook the realm of consciousness for one of blessed ease and joy…

"My lady, the fair light has appeared over yonder. It shines and it glows, calling all to awaken. Below, the fellowship prepares for their departure, all the while awaiting the farewell of thy Lady of Light." Celeborn stepped over the threshold, his stately robes brushing against the gilded floor. 

"Waken…" He gazed down on her that lay unmoving facedown on the bed. He frowned. This was an unusual posture for the graceful Lady of Light. She must have been wearied beyond thought or care. Looking closer, his usual placid manner dropped for a second but he quickly regained his composure. He grasped her wrist and felt for her pulse. A second later, he called out to the guard who had accompanied him to the Lady and was now waiting respectfully just outside the door. 

"The Lady seems to have stopped breathing. Send for the healers and do not falter, be it ever for a second." Celeborn tried his utmost to keep his voice steady, yet could not help but raise his tone in urgency at this last command. Startled and confused by this unexpected turn of events, the guard hurried away. Celeborn turned back to his wife, his distress increasing every moment. 

All right, not very good. Review please! Suggestions on how to improve are welcome, so long as they are constructive.


	2. Chapter 1

A/N: In case you haven't noticed in the small headings above, this is a mystery. With *** **simper** * **Haldir as the debonair detective, as you will soon find out. Enjoy!

Dragon-of-the-north: Thanks for your review, it encouraged me to no end. Keep guessing; that's part of the fun! 

* * * indicates flashbacks

*- indicates a change in setting

Sam puttered about his small haversack, frantically muttering to himself. 

"As my Gaffer used to say, if ever you have to pack, then by gum, make it a packing worth remembering! Now let me see… cooking utensils, water canteen…I know I must be forgetting something."

"Oh Sam," Frodo laughed, busy with his own small bundle. "Is there anything from the Shire that you didn't pack?"

"Why yes, Mr. Frodo," Sam replied seriously, quite oblivious to Frodo's jesting manner. "I discovered in Rivendell that I left my sewing kit behind. A real nuisance it was. Thanks be, the elves had one to spare." 

Frodo burst out in a merry peal of laughter, engaging the curious glances of passing elves. Though surprised, Sam loyally joined in Frodo's mirth, determined to soften the oddness of a lone hobbit chuckling in the midst of a vast elven city. 

"That's my Mr. Frodo," mused Sam fondly as Frodo bent once again over his pack. "Always happy, always glad. A joy to be around, he is." He stood, surveying Frodo, till the latter swung around with a tiny grin.

"Now come on, Sam my lad. The time of our departure draws near and you don't look anywhere near done." He cast an amused glance at the numerous items strewn about Sam's pack. Embarrassed to be caught idling, Sam hurriedly set about his task. 

"Mr. Frodo is a good hobbit, he is. One of the best." Sam thought as he mentally ticked items of his checklist. 

* * *

Supported comfortably by his elbow, Sam gazed, mesmerised, upon Frodo, who lay a short distance away. He was deep in slumber, the sound of gentle snoring resounding in the cosy hollow where the fellowship had taken respite. His eyelashes lay enticingly on his cheeks, highlighting the creamy softness of his skin. His face was a serene mask, smoothed from care and worries. Sam inhaled deeply, entranced by this beauty he had never known Frodo to possess. Placing the fingers of his right hand upon the tiny hollow at the base of his neck, he could feel his pulse quicken, pounding rapidly. Accompanying it was a queer, flurried sensation, entirely alien to the usually stolid Sam. "I could just watch him all the night…"

* * *

"What business have I, thinking of that? Now is not the time nor the place." Sam jerked back to the present with a jolt. "Unnatural emotions, that's all they are." Yet, as he struggled to focus on the task at hand, he realised that the memories of that night only caused a lovely warmth to diffuse throughout his being. Besides, there had been no accounting for his silent protestation the night before…

Frodo closed the flap of his haversack, heaving a contented sigh. A deep sense of accomplishment was his just reward. He peeked over at Sam, who seemed to be once again lost in an enchanting daydream. It was most probably about the elves. Sam's lifelong fascination with the ethereal creatures had never ceased to amaze Frodo; it was so full of innocent wonder and trusting belief. Frodo knew that, to Sam, the elves were beings far above the common ranks, seemingly incapable of faults. Such they were, yet Sam exalted them so, that should any one of the elves show himself to be any less than perfect, Sam's illusions would be shattered, all that he held in adoration crushed. Who knew then what harm it would cause, what violent reaction it would invoke?

Frodo frowned slightly. Such was the danger of holding a being, even those of the purest light, in such blind estimation. As he stood, absorbed in his pondering, low, urgent murmurs assuaged his senses. Soft footfalls, moving with an easy grace even in their speed, alerted him to the presence of others. Twisting around in a fluid, lithe motion, he watched as two elves came striding in his direction. One, Frodo recognized as an eminent healer of Lothlorien, highly respected even among those of his art. The other was a stranger to Frodo but his position was openly reflected by his garb, that of the guard. Deeply engaged in conversation, the two entirely bypassed the hobbits. Noting that they were heading in the general direction of Lady Galadriel's flet, an uneasy sensation rose within Frodo.

*- 

"Lord Celeborn, the healer has arrived." A grave tone pierced the turmoil of his thoughts. Looking up hastily from his pacing, Celeborn vaguely motioned towards Galadriel.

A/N: (In reference to Sam's infatuation) I do not mind in the least reading slash, but writing it is an entirely different matter. However, it is essential to the plot of this fic. so…*throws hands up in despair* Sorry if it is terribly done. As for non-slashers, there will be the strict involvement of emotions, with no physical attraction whatsoever. [Warning] This is a very clean fic.!


	3. Chapter 2

A/N: I changed the title of the fic because, well, I thought the old title was dumb. Erm… * sheepish laugh * Sorry if any confusion was caused for readers!

Celeborn shook, his quivering barely perceptible to the healer and guard. 

Why lay there unmoving, dearest? Have you left me here, alone? Questions raced through his consciousness, aching to be answered yet receiving no response.

* * *

Celeborn gazed about, as he wandered the forest of Lorien. Golden leaves fell, ever drifting in the air, the Mallorn trees bequeathing their treasures to the elven lord. He walked in wonder, touching their trunks now and then in silent reverence. Such creation he had not seen in the undying lands. Amongst the trees he suddenly glimpsed a flash of white. Curious, he scaled the nearest tree and situated himself among its swaying boughs. From his lofty perch he beheld a lovely vision, her tresses free and falling, her skin so smooth and pale. Thus it was, that he first encountered Galadriel and marvelled at the sight.

* * *

*-

Aragorn stared, aghast, as Pippin consumed an inordinate amount of Elvish wafers, downing it with yet another tall glass of Elvish dew. He paused for a moment, during which Aragorn breathed a sigh of relief, only to stare in unbelieving horror as Pippin helped himself to more of the wafers. On the opposite side of the table, Boromir was going through similar convolutions at each mouthful Merry took. 

"This breakfast is none too bad, eh, Pip?"

"Well, I'm not complainin' Merry. So long as my stomach is satisfied, like." Pippin rubbed his belly contentedly. "Betcha you couldn't finish another seven wafers and three more glasses o' dew!"

"You're on!" Merry consented gamely to the challenge, such suiting him exactly. Beside the respective hobbits, Aragorn and Boromir groaned dismally, their minds reeling. Aragorn ruefully rubbed his stubble, reflecting on the size of his own portion; two wafers and one glass of dew. Boromir stared glumly at his plate, suddenly shamed to be so satisfied by three wafers and half a glass of dew. The two hobbits, meanwhile, continued to feast unperturbed, seemingly oblivious to their companions' discomfort. Finally, Boromir managed to rack up enough courage to pose a question.

"Do not you half-lings ever suffer from pain of any sort, taking into consideration your accustomed rate of consumption, not to mention the amount you consume?" Aragorn looked up at this query, a new-found respect for Boromir suddenly awakening within him. Merry and Pippin gravely contemplated the question, before Pippin piped up,

"Well, no actually."

"Oh." Boromir sank back, subdued, into his seat. Aragorn drew a deep breath, taking a brief moment to assert himself. Then, in a tone he desperately hoped was firm and authoritative, spoke.

"The hour is late. Come, the time of our departure draws well nigh." An apologetic silence ensued, with the two hobbits chewing all the more vigorously. The two men glanced away, each focusing his entire attention on the settling of his stomach. A minute bead of sweat trickled down Boromir's back.

"Come on Boromir ol' fellow. We don't want to be late now do we?" The sound of Pippin's voice woke Boromir from his agonized reverie. Straightening up, Boromir reached over and tapped Aragorn on the shoulder, realizing from his pained facial expression and glazed eyes that his views on the hobbits' eating habits accorded with his own. Aragorn stirred, his eyes meeting Boromir's as the two exchanged sympathetic glances. In a gentle inclination towards the other elves seated at their table, Aragorn proffered his gratitude for the spread before speeding his comrades on their way, largely ignoring what appeared to large pieces of wafer protruding conspicuously from the hobbits' back-pockets. He only hoped that the keen eyes of the elves had not spied the tidbits.

Guiding the group towards a small clearing, the pre-determined gathering place of the fellowship, Aragorn subconsciously slowed his pace to one fairly leisurely. He and Boromir trailed behind in quiet triumph, feeling as though they had emerged a great trial unscathed and whole. The two hobbits chattered merrily, moving ahead. In a matter of a few minutes, the group had come within sight of the designated clearing, in the midst of which stood two lonely figures engaged in heated discussion. Upon hearing their approach, the first of the figures, Frodo, as they now realized, spun on his heel. To their utter astonishment, he motioned frantically for them to make haste. Bewildered, all four broke into a sprint. An inexplicable chill smote the heart of Aragorn, yet despite this he could not help but wonder that the hobbits could run on so full a stomach. 

"We have been waiting for you." Frodo hurriedly related his previous sighting of the two elves. He looked uneasily at the ground and brushed his toe against a rock.

"It may be nothing but…" At these words, Aragorn quickly concurred.

"Let us inquire into the matter. At the very least, we could clear any fear or doubts." The words echoed in Frodo's mind.

"Fear or doubts." An unusual choice of words.


	4. Chapter 3

A/N: Sorry for taking so long with this chapter. I'll try to post more regularly (I hope…)

Midnight Wine: I'm glad you enjoyed the last post. I'll keep working on it!

Dragon-of-the-north: Yeah, there was a bit more humor in the last chapter, wasn't there? The hobbits make for some funny inspirations!

A lone bird sang, offering its song to the morn. Its voice trilled in sweet exultation, rejoicing in tuneful melody. Below its airy perch, two others walked, they too reveling in the sights of Lothlorien bathed in the light of dawn. The little bird peeked down inquisitively, puzzled to see such unlikely companions strolling together in comfortable ease.

"Do you like it here, Gimli?"

"Aye," grunted the dwarf. "It's beautiful. Not too much to my liking, if you understand. Too many trees. But it is not all bad." The elf poked him slyly in the arm.

"It helps that Galadriel is lady of the realm, does it not?" His teasing brought a flush to the dwarf's cheeks but still he responded good-naturedly.

"Now, laddie, it certainly does." Gimli sighed contentedly as he recalled the elf maiden from the eve before. "I have yet to see a gem that compares to her beauty." Legolas smiled in understanding but could not resist another poke or two.

"But take care, friend. Too be overly besotted is none too healthy." 

"I merely wish to admire from afar. Not like that Sam and his Mr. Frodo." Gimli twiddled with his beard distractedly. At this last statement, Legolas glanced down in surprise at his comrade. 

"You have noticed?"

"Aye, yes." Gimli squinted at Legolas through narrowed eyes. "Don't be thinkin' that dwarfs can't see nothin', you elves with your wondrous eyesight and all. We may not see things so far away but we can perceive the emotions, yes. We can feel the heart." Legolas choked back a wave of laughter as he watched Gimli strut along, a self-professed expert on matters of love. He struggled to restrain himself and turned away as he gave vent to his emotions in a discreet cough. Then he resumed the conversation.

"How do you know?"

"I've seen Sam looking at Frodo at night. Just the thought of it…" Gimli shivered involuntarily. " Legolas patted him on the back and proffered his little finger.

"Let us watch and see how things progress. Such emotions may run deeper than we presume and be of more serious a nature." Gimli hooked his own pinky with Legolas'.

"Deal," he promised, "We'll be the silent watchers." And he chortled slightly, rather taken by the idea. Legolas shaded his eyes and surveyed the rising sun.

"It is time to meet the fellowship. We should go that way, if I remember rightly." So saying, the two hurried off.

They made good speed and reached the hollow just as the others were preparing to leave on their small 'inquiry'. Upon acquainting himself with the news, Gimli charged forth in fervent anxiety.

"What are we waiting for? Save your breath talking and go at once!" The fellowship followed close behind, yet one member trailed behind, lost in thought.

* * *

"You are the one my granddaughter loves? Do not look away. There is no need to be afraid."

* * *

"Aragorn?" The man looked up at the sound of his name, startled out of past memories.

"Oh, Frodo." He smiled uneasily at the hobbit trotting alongside him. 

"Are you all right?"

"I am fine." Empty wishes, hopeless dreams.

He shook his head, as if to clear all intruding mental imagery, then returned his attention to the present. They were fast approaching Galadriel's private residence.


	5. Chapter 4

The fellowship stood clustered around the foot of the tree. It reached ever upwards, the highest tree in the city, slender and pale as the lady herself. On its lower branches nestled the flets of her most trusted handmaidens, while her own apartment lay on the topmost branch, in clear view of all her kingdom. Now that they had arrived, they knew not what to do. Gimli shrugged and began the ascent of the narrow stairway winding itself about the graceful trunk. Just as he took his second step up, however, he was halted by a slight cough. He glanced up and saw there the Lord Celeborn. The lord was immaculately groomed, his elven robes in perfect array. Yet Gimli saw something beneath that expressionless cast, something that unsettled the dwarf. Perhaps it was that wetness of the eye that drew Gimli's attention, or the tremble underlining his tones when he ventured to speak, perhaps the manner in which he held himself. Whatever it was, it apparently escaped the remainder of the fellowship. Aragorn began, the mutually accepted representative of the group. 

"Lord Celeborn?" His voice broke the mist of Celeborn's thoughts. After listening to Aragorn's explanation, he nodded.

"It was my original design to gather the fellowship. Since you have all arrived, let us adjourn to the meeting quarters." Silently, they followed him, each wondering in his own hearts. Even the Merry and Pippin were subdued, alarmed by Celeborn's gravity. 

The meeting hall was situated in the next tree and Celeborn led them upwards till they had reached the heart of the great clustering branches. There was an open, wide platform, a long oak table standing at in the midst of it. Sunlight filtered through the topmost branches and the airy space was well lighted. Celeborn seated himself at its head and the fellowship followed suit, each taking his place. Eagerly, they awaited. Celeborn surveyed the two rows of faces, then started to speak.

"This morning, I…" he choked on his words, the memories overwhelming him. 

"Lord Celeborn?" Gimli leaped up, distressed. The elf leaned his elbows on the table, his hands obscuring his face as he struggled to keep tab on his emotions.

"I…I think it would be better to wait until the healer arrives." He faltered. The fellowship exchanged alarmed glances. Healer? Had this anything to do with Galadriel? Frodo leapt to his feet, his fist pounding the table. The others surveyed him in alarm. 

"It cannot be! She was well when I saw her last, the night before. She spoke to me and…" his voice died down and he sat back down. The others gazed quizzically at him, before resuming a busy chatter amongst themselves; this was news to them. All were busy with this new tidbit, all but one. Sam. He stared off into the distance, his eyes misting over. Then he turned to Frodo who sat on right. Smiling reassuring at him, he took Frodo's hand. His mind spiraling from his sudden outburst, Frodo let him be.

Just then, the healer presented himself, the guard standing a little way behind in respect. Celeborn nodded in greeting, then raised his voice over the clamor of the fellowship. 

"You will now find out why I planned to summon you here." At the sound of his voice, all fell silent. Before he could continue, however, the healer motioned for him to pause and drew to his side. The healer conferred in low undertones with Celeborn, before giving instructions to the guard in their native elven tongue. They waited. 

A short while later, the guard reappeared, beside him a figure vaguely familiar to the fellowship. Pippin tussled with his thoughts, trying to place the strange elf. Then it struck him and he waved merrily at the elf.

"It's Haldir, isn't it? Hello! Remember me? I'm Pippin! We met yesterday when you pointed arrows at us and…" here Merry promptly stuffed one of the stolen wafers in his mouth. Undeterred, Pippin continued.

"Mumph mumble mumph scamph…" Laughing, Haldir patted his head. 

"Yes, I remember you. Now, I understand Lord Celeborn has some important business to discuss." So saying, he turned to face the lord. 

"Quite." Celeborn beckoned towards the healer. 


	6. Chapter 5

The healer stepped forward to take his place. A deadly hush fell on all present

"This morning, at 8 o' clock precisely, Lord Celeborn, accompanied by the guard Ceruil, went to waken Lady Galadriel. Upon arrival, Lord Celeborn found her to be lying on her front and her pulse undetectable. He then dispatched Ceruil to summon me, who confirmed at 20 minutes past 8 that the lady was, indeed, dead and in the halls of Mandos." At this, he lifted his eyes skyward in reverence. Then he resumed his narration. 

"After inspection of the body, I found no signs of poisoning, but a blow to a vital point or a strangling could have accomplished the deadly object. The lady was found to be especially low to resistance in the last hours of her life, apparently drained from great mental or physical battle. The force within her was ebbing away and anyone could have done the deed, given the right kind of tools." Here he glanced at the hobbits and Gimli, who bristled in fury under his stare. 

"Or those with the right amount of strength." Here his gaze shifted to the two men. Celeborn started up in distress. 

"Suspicion does us no good, my friend. Go, take a seat." Then he sat back down and addressed the fellowship.

"All of you here were visitors in the realm of Lothlorien. On the one night that you took respite, the lady was murdered. It is not in a pleasant position you find yourselves. Once the people of Lothlorien find out, they will raise an outcry against you. The best I can do, both in the hopes of bringing the cruel killer to justice and clearing your names, is to have Haldir," here he indicated the elf, "investigate this crime. I hope you do not mind?" 


	7. Chapter 6

Dragon-of-the-north: Thanks for reviewing! I've changed the "Manthos" to "Mandos". Oops! How embarrassing! Heh heh.

A/N: Ok, this chapter is not exactly the greatest. But it's tough to write their reactions! I tried and I hope it's…well…passable, heh. 

The fellowship sat, unsure of how to react. Haldir, himself, wondered at the numbness of his own mind. :Grief, anger, desolation, sorrow; the words paraded through his mind. Yet, he could not identify this emotion that swamped him. Nothingness. Blank. Empty. They lent more apt descriptions. The enormity of the situation was too great. It spanned and affected ages past and present. 

She had been a queen, a noble ruler. He had known her as such and knew that, as a subject, it was fitting to bemoan her passing. Should he be feeling anymore than he did? No tears, no heart-wrenching pain, just calm, her death a vague notion nagging at his consciousness. 

:What did she mean to me?:

His thoughts came stifled, randomly springing forth to confront him. He had felt a sense of pride, he supposed, that Galadriel, lady of light, oversaw his resident land. Gratefulness, that she used her power to preserve and glorify the splendor of the olden days. 

But nothing more.

Then he blinked. He was the captain of the guard, a position bestowed upon him by Lady Galadriel. That much he owed her. He left his place and drew to one side to consult with the healer. Ceruil tapped Celeborn's shoulder.

"My Lord?"

"Leave us, for now." Celeborn ordered, his eyes fixed firmly before him. "And issue an announcement, that all the elves should gather in the clearing at the foot of this tree nigh noon." 

"Yes, my lord." The guard hurried off precipitately, glad to excuse himself from the meeting hall. The permeating atmosphere hung heavy and thick. Then Gimli turned to Celeborn stiffly.

"It's a pity she should die. I offer my condolences." he muttered gruffly, then stalked off.

"Should we go after him?" cried Merry, as the others watched his retreating back.

"No, let him be. He needs time to reflect on his own." Legolas replied, then turned to Aragorn.

"How about the ring? It cannot be detained much longer here in Lothlorien. Surely Saruman must have discovered to whence we escaped."

Celeborn hurriedly intervened.

"You will be safe should you remain. I swear to you protection. You will, however, have to stay here for as long as the investigation is carried out. My apologies."

"Not at all." Aragorn answered warmly. "We will stay here for as long as it is required." The sound of sobbing caught his attention and he gravely regarded Pippin, whose head was buried in his arms.

"Now, now, control yourself." He said kindly.

"Nooo…" Pippin's voice came muffled. "I can never forgive myself, never, so long as I live!"

"Pippin?" Merry inquired worriedly.

"It slipped into my mind, honest! I…I was jest wonderin' when we could next eat 'cause I was so hungry! How could I be thinkin' that, with Galadriel having died and all! Ohhh…." Pippin berated himself, while the fellowship exchanged glances. Then they burst into laughter. Celeborn, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, stood up.

"I think we are all rather ravenous after such a morning. Follow me."

*-

Gimli walked on furiously, not caring where his feet brought him, nary a care for what the passing elves thought. He wandered on and on, thoughts burning in his mind but left unchallenged. He did not want to face them, did not want to overcome the emotions that would break loose once the floodgates were opened. Finally, exhaustion overcame him and he sank down on a rock, alone in the midst of a copse.

Galadriel. The rumoured elf-witch, yet so different from all he had heard. Slander, stemming from fear of the unknown, was all that had reached his ears before. Now he knew how deep his misconceptions ran. 

He recalled how she had appeared to them upon the eve of the previous day. Descending the stairs, basked in light that was her own. A radiance so pure, that it put the dwarf to shame. Never had he seen such beauty. Her hair was fairer than any gold he had wielded, skin glistening truer than mithril. Her eyes, now they were a wonder. Azure, they were the sky on a sunny day, reflecting the depths of the ocean. They saw, piercing mind and soul, empathizing, as they had with him.

He recalled the words she had spoken. How he had known, in that simple comfort, that she understood and shared his pain. The desolation of finding the great mine dark and cursed, ere it had been a place that knew only glory and splendor. To find bodies of dear kin lying in hideous disarray, desecrated by the foul orcs. 

He bowed his head in sorrow and wept.

:She is dead.:


	8. Chapter 7

Dragon-of-the-north: You always make interesting points and it's great to read your reviews! Thanks for following the story :) As for Celeborn being over-joyful, the tension at that moment was rather unbearable and Pippin just happened to relieve it. All of them laughed, you see. 

Mindelan: Thanks for reviewing! I hope you received my e-mail. If you would like me to continue notifying you, please tell me in your next review.

A/N: I am unsure of how Galadriel and Celeborn met, so I took some liberties concerning that point. In this story, they both passed over the sea to Middle-Earth and, while exploring Lothlorien, each encountered the other. 

Aragorn ate thoughtfully, his attention focused more on Lord Celeborn than on the fare. The lord must be distraught indeed, his wife had been murdered, a partner lost for all eternity. Yet Celeborn sat chatting and jesting with the hobbits, seemingly unaffected by all that had come to pass. :I would not have expected this.: 

Meanwhile, the hobbits, of whom I think it suffices to say were Merry and Pippin, were trying their utmost to keep Celeborn's mind off the murder, unaware of the thoughts prompted by their actions. In their own simple ways, they struggled to bury their own sorrow and channelled their energies into helping those who needed it most. Now they reached out to Celeborn, comforting him the best they could, the only way they knew how. Masking their distress lest it encourage negativity on his part, they joked and they laughed, glad of every response he made, every second his mind was diverted from the death. For this Celeborn was grateful. Yet the hobbits could not keep him in a perpetual state of forgetfulness. There were times, when they paused to eat or converse with other members of the fellowship, that his mind slipped, in complete disregard to his will, to places wither he wished not to visit. He drank deeply of the wine placed in front of him, then stared fixedly at the sparkling, clear liquid as he swilled it about. 

* * *

They had sat, sipping of their goblets. The wine flowed pleasingly down Celeborn's throat, running a smooth course to induce refreshment. A warm, intoxicating sensation permeated his being and he stole a glance at the lady to see if she enjoyed the drink as much as he. Fate had it that she lifted her eyes to quiz him as well and their diffident gazes interlocked. Galadriel broke the awkward silence.

"Why have you brought me here?" The two were sitting on the grass of a small glade in the woods of Lothlorien. Smiling curiously and waiting for his answer, Galadriel ran her fingers through the waters of the small pool next to them, rippling the surface with her unconscious movement. Celeborn watched the spreading rings, astonished at how well they expressed his feelings. Once calm and self-affirmed, he had lived slightly aloof from the other elves. Not wholly understood, he had not cared to reveal what he hid beneath. Galadriel's coming had stirred the depths of those cold waters, touching emotions he never knew he possessed. She was his equal on every aspect, on par for every skill. Her intelligence charmed and piqued him, he yearned to probe deeper into the innermost recesses of her mind. He had learned to share and not only materially-wise, but emotionally. The two were closer than most, companionable even in silence. So a year had fled since Celeborn's first sighting of her among the trees. 

Now he felt as he had on that day, clinging to a defined hope, yet clueless as to how to achieve it. Finally, he held up his glass. 

"Galadriel, I know not how to say this and..and.. your loveliness only dizzies me into such euphoria that my mind is not my own." He stammered.:What is wrong with me?: he cursed silently. :That was not what I meant to say! Though it is true: 

"Do be serious." Laughed Galadriel, "You will make me blush." In a sudden movement that surprised himself, even, Celeborn seized her by the arm, his fingers firmly, yet gently gripping her. He leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on her lips.

"T..that was what I meant to say." He drew back and released her arm. Drawing confidence from the fact that Galadriel did not seem utterly repulsed, he smoothed a wisp of wayward hair from her brow and murmured,

"Would you pledge your love to me?" Galadriel raised her eyes to his and there he read of all he had ever dreamed of. A single tear trickled down her cheek, making her answer all the more eloquent. As the sun set, closing the curtain on the blissful pair, they drank to their future, toasting their happiness for the first time as two bound as one.

* * *

"Lord Celeborn?" He looked down at the nudge at his elbow. Pippin's face gazed up at him, brimming with concern. 

"Don't you think you're drinking over much?" Asked the hobbit. Across the table, Merry burst out laughing.

"You should talk, Pippin. I know your penchant for beers. Many a night you've been dancing on the tables, serenading us with another of your songs!" As Pippin hurried to efface his cousin's bluntness with an explanation, Celeborn chuckled heartily. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he turned to Merry and winked.

"Tell me more about those nights, Meriadoc."

"Gladly!" He started on a colourful history while Celeborn listened in absorption, both deaf to Pippin's vain protests.


	9. Chapter 8

Dragon-of-the-north: I happen to be asking myself the same question. Where is Haldir? I've promised him since, oh, the second chapter. He makes his debut in the sixth! * wacks self on head * Sorry Haldir! I'll try to make you appear more often. After all, you are supposedly the detective!  
  
A/N: Now, let's try and continue. * yawn * I know it's moving really slowly, but please bear with me. I'm trying to recount every detail as well as I can. Perhaps later I'll join the past chapters, two chappies to one chap, so the fic won't be so long. Be warned if the number of chapters suddenly goes down due to the splicing!  
  
To the rest of you. Please review if you're reading! * tears hair in frustration * It means a lot to me!  
  
Frodo looked up from his food at the sound of approaching footsteps. Sure enough, Gimli had soon come within sight and was standing awkwardly at the corner of the table, hands behind his back. Frodo thought he could faintly discern a slight puffiness about the dwarf's eyes. Legolas, sensing his friend's discomfort, beckoned him over to the empty seat beside him. Filling Gimli's plate from the numerous platters, Legolas swept a warning glance over the fellowship. They immediately resumed their previous occupations, taking care not to look at dwarf or elf.  
  
Sam leaned back, deeply satisfied, his stomach full of elvish goodness. He stirred as Haldir came to seat himself at the table, filling the remaining seat. Curious, he watched the elf eat, wondering how much was considered substantial to an elf.  
  
Haldir glanced over at Sam, smiling inwardly as his eyes met the hobbit's round ones. They widened now and looked away hurriedly. Haldir watched as Sam searched for an object to fix his attention upon and finally settled on Frodo. Gimli's ill-concealed snort at Sam's choice did not escape the new detective's awareness, either. Haldir stroked his chin. :There may be more to this case than meets the eye.:  
  
He then looked round at those seated at the table. :They are all here. And so, let the feast begin.:  
  
Boromir looked at the Merry and Pippin, as they sat laughing with Celeborn. He wondered if their joy was a mere show, or if they remained genuinely unaffected by the death of Galadriel. He returned his gaze to his food, almost fixedly. It was strange how things happened. Strange how things were never suspected till too late.  
  
* * *  
  
Her eyes pierced the veil shrouding his thoughts, seeing all, understanding all. In vain he tried to resist, prevent the revealing of his intentions. It was true, the ring was a great temptation to him. One to which he might succumb eventually. He knew it was so. Now she knew it was so. Desperation. It swept in tumultous waves over his quaking heart as he scrabbled to cover what little he had left to conceal.  
  
What would she do? What could he do?  
  
* * *  
  
"Boromir." Haldir shook his arm gently. "Boromir."  
  
"Y.yes?" He looked quizzically at the elf. The latter pointed to a the piece of lembas on his plate.  
  
"There is an ant on your food." Boromir followed his indication.  
  
"So there is." Without a thought, Boromir squished the ant, leaving a black splotch on the wafer.  
  
*-  
  
Celeborn studied Merry and Pippin critically. He noted their rate of eating, their rate of talking and the small unconscious movements they made. He was, altogether, quite an observant person and not a sign escaped his eye, each captured and correctly interpreted. After a few minutes or so of this attitude, he had came to a conclusion. The hobbits were slowly, but surely, winding down. The meal would soon be at an end.  
  
Celeborn smiled in slight relief and turned from the two, pleased with the apparent results. In quiet amusement, he surveyed the remaining fellowship. Talking among themselves in low undertones, they seemed much used to the length of their two companions' meal. But there was one who had not accompanied the hobbits from Rivendell. One who was not familiar with their eating habits.  
  
Celeborn looked over at Haldir, who sat listlessly, tapping his fingers rhythmically upon the hard table top. Scanning his surroundings for lack of things to do, his eyes met those of Celeborn, within them an urgent query. Celeborn nodded, his motion barely perceptible, but its meaning was conveyed in full to the bored Haldir.  
  
Pushing his chair back from the table, he stood abruptly, drawing the stares of the fellowship. Back in control, he folded his arms sternly.  
  
"Lord Celeborn has still to announce news of the death to his people." He turned towards Celeborn.  
  
"Yes, I plan to do so come mid-afternoon."  
  
"After which, I request that all of you gather at my flet. There, Lord Celeborn and I will interview each one individually." Brusquely, he cut to the point. "We need to obtain your alibis." The fellowship sat, silenced, the sickening reality of their positions starting to register.  
  
"Any questions?" Legolas voiced a thought.  
  
"Will you not have any suspects apart from us? The murderer may be someone entirely unacquainted with the fellowship."  
  
"I have taken that into consideration. Not to worry, all will be dealt with in due time. Meanwhile, I would appreciate your cooperation." Haldir turned to leave.  
  
"I will see you there."  
  
A/N: Alibis in next chapter! Really, no more delaying. 


End file.
